It was a month of dreariness in the kingdom. The prevailing gloom had since shrouded the entirety of the palace and its surrounding lands. Trees had withered, now little more than ashy fingers clawing through the murky darkness. Weeds choked the wilted remnants of the palace gardens. The still sadness there prevented visitors from ever drawing near.
And Lord Whingeyarse, dear Lord Whingeyarse, no longer strutted. No longer did he prance and prowl, preen and purr. No longer did he spend his every early morn — approximately 4am to be precise — scamper-sliding through the palace halls like a deranged lunatic, seeking out his king’s attention.
For the king, in all of his troubles, had long abandoned him.
Now Lord Whingeyarse spends his days, his afternoons, his evenings peering out the window, staring wide-eyed at the dying landscape, pining for a king who no longer exists in his world.
A king who, one day, will realize he left his goddamned cat behind.
(Lord Whingeyarse pining out the window for his king. Later, he would make that very perch his secret hideaway where he could hide from the cruel, cruel world.)
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Once Upon a Time.”